


Secrets

by mechanicaljewel



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: cox_and_co, Inspired by Fanart, Light Bondage, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-17
Updated: 2007-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:38:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechanicaljewel/pseuds/mechanicaljewel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes and his protégé.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters are in the public domain now, but oodles of credit must be given to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for inventing them, even though he must be rolling over in his grave for what I’m doing to them.
> 
> My first Holmes fic. Unbetaed.

Sherlock Holmes snapped the handcuffs on the wrists of Inspector Stanley Hopkins. The young Scotland Yarder trembled visibly. He was on his back on the floor of his bachelor flat, wearing only his shirt, which was unbuttoned. Holmes, on the other hand, was still completely dressed, the pinnacle of propriety, except for the way his eyes raked over the exposed body of Stanley Hopkins, who was doubly vulnerable now that he was restrained.  
  
“Holmes,” he cried meekly. “Do something.” He pushed his hips upward, emphasizing the flushed, erect flesh that ached with need.  
  
Holmes chuckled. “Watson wonders what I see in you.” He kneeled, straddling Hopkins’s thighs. He licked his lips and leaned forward, his hands behind his back, putting his lips next to Hopkins’s ear just close enough that they did not touch. “Even he can see that your deductive skills leave much to be desired. He wonders if you are worthy to be my protégé.”  
  
Hopkins panted, “I’m not. But my admiration for you is beyond anyone’s. Please, let me show you.”  
  
“I told Watson,” Holmes continued as if he had not heard, though the smirk in his voice betrayed that he had, “that you had a number of impressive skills that he never saw. I told him that you only come to me when your need is great.” Holmes sat back to observe the tortured expression on the young inspector’s face. His lips were swollen, his eyes wide. He began nodding.  
  
“Yes, great need. Need you, Holmes.” He lifted his shackled arms from above his head and reached for the older man. Quick as lightning, Holmes caught the chain between the two bracelets, and held Hopkins’s hands at arm’s length. Hopkins soon gave up and lay his arms back down above his head.  
  
“That’s better,” Holmes stated, with a devious glint in his eyes. He leaned forward again, aiming lower this time, and closed his mouth around one of Hopkins’s nipples. As he nibbled and teased it with his tongue, Hopkins’s whole body arched, his arousal desperate to make contact with  _anything_ . But Holmes would not allow that just yet. He swiftly grasped Hopkins’s hips and forced them down, his buttocks hitting the floor with a soft  _smack!_  “No, my boy, not yet,” Holmes purred.  
  
Hopkins panted harder and began struggling fruitlessly against the handcuffs on his wrists and the hands that gripped his hips. After a few moments of this, he paused in his struggle and caught Holmes’s eyes. The other man was smiling smugly at the entire display, thoroughly enjoying himself.  
  
“Please, Mr. Holmes, I need to do something—I can’t last much longer.”  
  
Holmes raised his eyebrows in mock concern, and languidly reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the little iron key that would free Hopkins’s hands. Holmes pressed the key to his pursed, grinning lips.  
  
“Are you sure you want me to use this?” he asked with a Mona Lisa smile.  
  
As Hopkins began to nod vigorously, Holmes reached into his other pocket.  
  
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I use this?” Holmes revealed a small bottle of oil.  
  
Hopkins locked his eyes on the oil and nodded with more fervour.  
  
“You’d rather I use the key than the oil? As you wish…”  
  
Hopkins watched in horror as Holmes began to slowly moved the oil back to his pocket. “No!” he shouted, and then breathlessly, he clarified, “The oil. Use the oil.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Holmes asked wickedly.  
  
“Yes. God! Yes!”  
  
Holmes revelled in Hopkins’s reactions as he watched Holmes unscrew the top from the bottle, as Holmes coated his fingers with its contents, as he teased at his opening, and finally, as he slipped those fingers inside.  
  
While Hopkins was wrapped in his own ecstasy, he did not notice Holmes opening his own trousers, nor did he notice when Holmes unlocked the handcuffs. But he did notice when Holmes suddenly turned him over and pulled him up to a half-kneeling position. And he certainly noticed when Holmes entered him.  
  
Hopkins shuddered at the glorious fullness he now felt. They were precariously balanced, Hopkins’s weight being almost entirely supported by Holmes. As usual, Holmes took charge of the situation. He hooked his arms under Hopkins’s and brought his hands to rest behind Hopkins’s head, his fingers digging into the inspector’s hair. Now, having the proper leverage, Holmes quickly pulled out and thrust sharply again.  
  
Hopkins gasped. Holmes’s prick hit his prostate with just the right amount of pressure and force; not enough to end it right there, but certainly doing nothing to dissuade his desperate arousal.  
  
Holmes began moving within him with urgency. He really was a terrific actor, Hopkins noted, for it was not until this moment that Hopkins knew how desperate the detective’s need had become. Holmes pounded into him, the slapping sound of bare thighs striking buttocks built into a steady rhythm. Ever the musician, Holmes picked up the tempo and brought them both to a fantastic crescendo. In no time at all, Hopkins exploded, spilling his seed all over the floor. From the ensuing muscle spasms, Holmes found his completion within Hopkins, his essence surging into the young inspector.  
  
They collapsed on the floor. Holmes unhooked his long arms and wrapped them around Hopkins’s chest. He pulled him in to nibble at the tender skin of his neck.  
  
“Holmes,” Hopkins said suddenly, when Holmes started sucking on the delicate flesh. “Holmes, stop, you’ll leave a mark.” He tried to wriggle away.  
  
“Precisely,” Holmes growled against Hopkins’s neck. “Consider it a test for all of your colleagues down at the Yard. If any of them can appreciate the full significance of what it means, the institution is not as hopeless as I currently think.”  
  
“Holmes, don’t talk like that. If we’re found out…”  
  
“Pah! Nothing will happen. A Scotland Yard inspector and a world-famous consulting detective? The press would have a field day, and the Yard would be disgraced. No, it would all be hushed up.”  
  
“But your family and friends…”  
  
“My family consists of my brother, who knows my nature. My friends consist of Watson, who—” he paused abruptly. “If Watson were to find out and reject me, then gaol could not break me any further.” He then disengaged himself, stood up, and refastened his trousers, endeavouring to look at least semi-presentable. “Well, I must be off, Hopkins. I do enjoy our little  _tête-à-têtes_ .”  
  
Hopkins got to his feet and started getting dressed. “Holmes, shouldn’t you get cleaned up before you go home?”  
  
Holmes let out a sardonic laugh. “Dear boy, this is my little test for Watson. He is even worse than the most obtuse Scotland Yarder. I told him I was going out to see you. I will return, clothing rumpled, my hair in disarray, smelling of your aftershave, of sweat, and of sex. I will have—” he bent down to pick up the handcuffs, “these jangling in my pocket. I could even put this half empty vial of oil right on the dining table. He will glance at me and ask if it was windy out.” Holmes put on his coat, scarf, and hat and picked up his walking stick and said, “Good night, Hopkins.” He leaned in as if to kiss him goodbye. Instead, he bent his head to Hopkins’s neck and sucked the red mark to a vivid purple. And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out.


End file.
